When Angels Cry
by RequiemOfDreams
Summary: When an unexpected death occurs, Italy and Germany's friendship is strained. It is only then that Germany realizes that he might love the Italian; but he is too late. If I say anymore I will spoil it so just please enjoy. Rated T for violence/death, language, romance. GerIta… Lots and lots of GerIta… and lots of other characters will be in this as well. Romance/Supernatural
1. And It Begins With Death

**So this is just a little idea that hatched in my mind and eventually turned into a story. A special thanks to ValleySong for helping me with this. I do not own Hetalia just the idea and I hope you enjoy the first chapter. **

Germany held his head high as he marched valiantly through the Italian countryside, leading his troops to war. On this particular day the normally cheery blue sky was overcast, seeming to set the mood of battle (when Germany thought about it, when was the weather ever nice during these times?). Even if it was, the perfect sky was marred by the heavy black smoke of artillery and military aircraft.

Germany sighed. He wished this day had been different; often times the death of so many of his men made him sick, and he would give anything just to be home, even if it meant dealing with his spastic brother. Despite this, he wouldn't sit around while Italy was being attacked…

"Deutschland," he heard General Pfeiffer call from behind him. "We should set camp here, ja?" The large nation nodded and stopped his march, turning towards his troops.

"Halt!" He commanded and the soldiers all stopped and waited for further instruction. Germany cleared his throat. "We will camp here for the night!" He yelled so every human could hear. "But we will not sleep until we face our enemy!" His ears were met with the shouts of allegiance from his people.

"We will crush the Russian troops or we will all die with honor!" There was more screaming, all vicious war cries, filling Ludwig with the excitement of battle. "Einigkeit und Recht und Freiheit!"

"Einigkeit und Recht und Freiheit!" His army repeated with such loyalty and fidelity that it filled Germany's heart with confidence and love, for he did indeed love his people.

Guns and weaponry were unloaded and they marched on in a perfect formation to the place of battle. Germany was in front as usual, and in his hands he held his large and glorious flag; the black, red and gold bright and regal even in the shadowy day.

He could tell when they reached the war zone; the soft grass became more sparse until the hard cracked dirt was all there was left, crunching loudly under his large black combat boots. The sound of gunfire was very close, making the grip on his flag tighten instinctively.

"Germany!" He heard a loud shrill as something ran into him at full force, nearly knocking him off of his feet; _Italy…_ He was weeping and a small cut above his eye made Germany furious. He would hurt Russia for that!

"He won't stop even after I surrendered!" tears were dripping down his face as he clutched Germany tightly. "Russia won't stop killing them!" His troops stiffened at the sight waiting for their leader to take the young Italian down, but Germany just pushed Feliciano off lightly before straightening out his uniform.

"Stop crying," he hissed and he saw Italy flinch in pain from his lack of empathy. "I need you to be a soldier, understood?" Italy nodded but Germany knew he had hurt the small nation. He wanted to apologize but didn't; he didn't want to lose the respect of his people.

He gave a quick motion with one gloved hand and immediately the higher-ups began to advance upon the battlefield. The rest followed until his whole army was running into battle and Germany was left alone with Italy. He took off his peaked hat and put in on Italy's head, apologizing without words. The Italian smiled weakly, but he was obviously shaken up. Germany then heard the screams of war and death and was reminded of his task at hand.

"We need to go stop him," Germany said coldly and he took off without another word towards the sound of gunfire, knowing the Italian would be following. Russia wasn't hard to spot; he was struggling with his new enemies, the Germans obviously making his job more difficult (although he didn't look the least bit surprised).

Ludwig sprinted with all of his might before launching off the ground and slamming into Ivan who gasped in shock at the blow. They were both knocked to the ground and Germany quickly gripped Russia's throat with his hands. He pressed down with all of his might, hearing the Russian begin to choke and sputter as his airway was cut off. However, even then Russia was smiling, his eyes wide and frightening.

"G-Germany…I-It's your… t-time… to… d-die," he gasped and laughed manically. Germany slammed his head into the ground roughly.

"No one's dying here," He growled. "You will stop your attack immediately!" His voice dripped with authority.

Russia's knee came up and smashed into Germany's stomach. The blonde immediately released his grip and stumbled backwards groaning in pain.

"Germany!" he felt Italy grab him by the waist in a lame attempt to keep him steady. He was still bent over gasping for breath; one hand reached protectively to keep the Italian behind him as he stood up straight. His icy blue eyes flicked upwards glaring at Ivan in hatred, but Ivan was just standing there with his head cocked to one side, grinning from ear to ear. Germany would have been lying if he said he wasn't a little frightened.

Russia's right hand came up and he waved.

_What the hell? _Germany thought to himself.

"Goodbye comrade," He laughed loudly, savoring those words. "Our encounter was short but it will be a famous one."

"Wha—"Germany was cut off by something cutting hard into his chest. He screamed and fell to his knees, feeling for the blade but finding nothing. Then, the strong feeling of death consumed him. He felt death as it claimed the lives of his innocents. Germany was being attacked by someone else.

Blood spilled out of his mouth and nose and he began to shake violently. Italy screamed and tried to help him, but there was nothing he could have done. He had been tricked into saving Italy so his land would be vulnerable; he felt so betrayed. He gripped his chest and tears began dripping down his face.

"Hahaha," Russia laughed heartlessly. "New technology," he exclaimed proudly. "Too bad we had to test it on your big old capital." Germany was sobbing now, letting his mind wander to all of the people who had died; _so many people._

"W-Why?" Germany cried. "You bombed my capital…" he moaned weakly.

"Because it sounded like a fun idea! You were becoming a threat anyways," he said nonchalantly. "And by the end of the day I will have two new territories!" Germany's head jerked up.

"Nein!" he gasped but the Russian just nodded.

"Da! And you cannot stop me." Russia walked up and grabbed the Italian by the arm, dragging him mercilessly a few feet in front of Germany while he struggled. Feliciano screamed and sobbed but this only made Russia's smile widen. He pulled out a long dagger from his coat and twirled the blade playfully.

The German had never experienced such pain and loss. He was close to death; he could feel it. A country without a capital is like a person without a heart. If he was physically wounded he knew he would die and his economy would collapse. He could still escape if he ran now; _right_ now. Yes, he could do it if he mustered up all of his power…

"Germany…" Italy whimpered and Germany realized that he wouldn't be running away without his Italian. Ludwig watched him struggle against Russia's grasp and his heart ached. Something clicked in place inside of him.

It was hard for him to admit but he loved Italy. Maybe it wasn't the type of mushy love most people thought of when they heard the word "love", but maybe… he wanted it to be… His face always turned red at the thought. Sure he would always push those thoughts away and place himself in such a deep state of denial that he could convince himself otherwise, but now in this life or death situation such thoughts were hard to ignore.

He felt odd, being able to admit that so blatantly, but he knew that he didn't have time to argue with himself. He had a choice and he knew what he had to do. He wouldn't let Russia take the only thing he had left.

"Aww isn't this touching?" Russia said sarcastically as he raised his weapon, ready to stab his victim. "Two friends about to die together."

Time moved slowly as the blade descended and Germany acted quickly. He didn't have time to grab a gun or knife, but he had enough time to lunge forward. His hands lashed out and pushed Italy roughly to the ground, a small gasp escaping his throat as he was caught off guard. But the blade certainly didn't miss as it sliced deeply into the German's chest. He moaned loudly as he stood there for a second trying to register what he had just done. Why did he do something so foolish?

_Italy is safe_, he reassured himself, and a rare smile lit up his usually stern features. _I may die but he will live… _And truthfully, Germany wouldn't have had it any other way.

His knees buckled and he collapsed, the smile still plastered on his face. The blade didn't hurt as the intense feeling of loss hurt with a much greater intensity. He felt something different; there was an odd sensation, pulling at him from all sides. His eyes became heavy and he heard Italy's cries. Italy held Germany's face in his hands and Germany quickly grabbed Feliciano's wrist.

"Run," he whispered, knowing that Russia was probably already reaching for a different blade.

"No! No! No!" He gasped as those beautiful amber eyes quivered and tears made two small rivers down his cheeks. "I won't leave you! W-Why would you do that?!"

Germany ignored the question and pulled Italy close so they were face to face. He felt Italy's hot tears spatter onto his face and he enjoyed the warmth as his body was so cold…

"Don't waste it… the life I gave you… Run soldier," his arm became too heavy to lift and it fell to his side uselessly. He saw Italy stumble back and then finally he turned and ran; Germany knew that he wouldn't be captured and doubted Russia would bother chasing him down. He felt like this is what he deserved; the Italian was so soft and innocent, while he was guilty in every aspect of the word.

He felt his body begin to convulse as blood dripped out of his mouth and his hands clenched into fists reflexively; however, he felt so distant that this didn't even bother him, and it didn't even feel like it was his body anymore. With one last breath his eyes shut and Germany became contented by the thought of death.

_There is no point in living if you have nothing to live for, _He assured himself as the pulling on his body increased thinking of his collapsing country. But then he realized that he had been lying. He did have something to live for, but that was also the thing he had to die for; that was the paradox of his life.

Suddenly he became very sad. He would never be able to tell Italy how he really felt. He hadn't even been able to tell him how much he… loved him. He would never get that chance because he wasted the last hundred years of his life in denial.

Why was life so cruel? Why does it take dying to realize your mistakes? He wanted to fight, to get up and run to Italy and hug him tightly and never let him go, but he was no longer there; everything was black and this darkness seemed to pull and press on Germany, or rather what was left of Germany's consciousness until he was convinced that he was no longer alive.

**Please review and tell me what you think. Any feelings, thoughts or creative ideas? Sure this is basically the introduction, but tiny ideas can go a long way. Oh and this chapter was meant to go by fairly quickly, I mean you don't have a ton of time to sit there and ponder life when you are fighting... just saying. XD It doesn't mean the whole story will be this way. **


	2. Sorrow and Desperation

**So I was driving and I passed a "Ludwig Gulch" and then I was like hmm I think I'm going to write a second chapter for this. XD oh the things that inspire me haha. Also thank you followers! I was pleasantly surprised to see I had gained followers after the first day of my first chapter. So please enjoy and thank you!**

Italy sat in the hearse, with the casket; he held a faded picture in his hands from many years ago, and eyed it thoughtfully. He remembered taking it; he caught Germany at just the right moment and it was one of the few pictures where the blonde was actually smiling widely. He always had it with him, but now it held a whole new meaning to the Italian.

He saw the ink blur slightly as his tears dripped onto the old photo and he quickly wiped it off before slipping in gently into his pocket. He slouched against the coffin and tilted his head up hoping he wouldn't burst into tears but realizing that he wasn't capable of suppressing them. He turned and pressed his forehead against the cool white surface of that new barrier that kept the two apart and sobbed quietly.

He knew what Germany would have said. _Are you a soldier? Stand up straight and proud. Tears are a sign of weakness! _He smiled weakly. He wished with all of his heart that Germany was there to say that to his face. Why did he have to do that? Why did it have to be him? He felt so empty inside.

_I love you Germany_, He thought longingly. _Just know I love you… _Of course Germany didn't have the same feelings for him but it didn't matter anyways. Germany was gone…

"Italy…?" He heard a light tap on the door, before it slowly swung open. America leaned inside and Feliciano noticed that he had tears dripping down his face as well and didn't feel so weak for crying. "It's time… do you want to help us carry him over to the gravesite?" The American hesitated and sighed. "I have a feeling that he would like that very much."

"Si," Italy whispered before lifting himself off of his best friend carefully. America opened the back door and Italy crawled out noticing a small group waiting there; they were all crying; Japan, Austria, Hungary, and France. Everyone wore black (even France) and their faces were filled with despair. He instantly realized that Germany's brother wasn't there.

"Where's Prussia," he asked and America seemed to deflate.

"He wasn't allowed to come," he whispered and the powerful nation began to weep surprising Italy. "Could you imagine not being allowed to go to your own brother's funeral," he gasped. "Russia is a monster… How dare he take that right away!"

"He just wanted to see Prussia suffer," Austria took of his glasses and wiped the tears from underneath his eyes. "I am under Russia's rule and I was allowed to go."

"So was I," Hungary burst into tears and dug her face in Roderich's coat, but the normally stuffy Austrian didn't seem to mind.

They chose to have the service in the cemetery, feeling that a cathedral may make the event much more heart-wrenching. At least outside they were bathed in the beautiful sunlight and all around them bright flowers bloomed. It was a bit incongruous with the melancholy mood, but Italy knew that was the point.

The five of them made their way to the place where Germany would be buried; they were met with the somber and depressing silence as most of the world watched their brother being put to rest. It seemed that no one besides the small group of five really had any close ties to Germany but it was astounding to Italy how many were in tears. Many were hugging each other, trying to seek security out of their friends and family while others just held themselves tightly and wept. Italy knew they were all connected but even then through all the war and violence he didn't realize how much of a family they all were to one another.

They set the casket down as gently as they could manage onto the mechanism that would later be used to lower the body into the ground. They all stood in silence waiting to see who would be the one brave enough to open the coffin before they started the ceremony; Italy knew they were all afraid that they would burst into tears at the sight of their fallen comrade.

He felt a hand on his shoulder as Austria walked up and put his arms around him gently pulling him forward. The two nations stood still for a few moments, both taking a deep breath before they tucked their fingers under the lid of the casket and lifted it up delicately. Italy's heart sank.

He was so still, his usually fair complexion much paler. He was all cleaned up and his wounds were covered, his black military-style suit making him look even lighter. His extremely light blonde hair was slicked back in his normal style and his face was so relaxed and soft that it made Italy's heart twist painfully in his chest. That's all that was left of his Germany; he was so cold and so lifeless as if it was just an empty shell of his once whole self.

He felt himself fall to his knees, but didn't fight it; the sight of Germany made him feel dizzy and weak. He reached out and grabbed Ludwig's hands in his own. They were so cold… even through the gloves the German was wearing it didn't disguise the fact that he was freezing. Italy began to quiver and he felt his shoulders begin to rise and fall sharply as he gasped in pain. He pushed his face into his friend's chest but didn't feel the same comfort and security.

He sobbed loudly not even caring what the other nations thought. He wished there was room for two in that coffin because at that moment Italy would have given anything to be forever by his side.

"I think we can all agree that what has happened is a tragedy," He heard America began his eulogy behind him gaining the attention of the slowly deteriorating nations. His speech was long and meaningful, making Italy's heart hurt with an intense throbbing pain. Italy didn't know something so genuine and heartfelt could come out of that usually egotistic world power and this made him feel even more torn on the inside.

The speeches seemed to last forever, everyone had something so say and every once in a while the crowd would laugh at an inside joke or the memories they shared and then someone would always jump in to speak. At the end there wasn't one person not crying; if they weren't sorrowful before, the stories and reminiscence certainly tore them to pieces.

When they were finished each nation took a rose and tied a small bow with their flag on it, symbolizing their support and virtuous feelings toward Germany. One by one each country walked by and said a quick goodbye. Italy was forced to stand and grab his rose; he would grab one for Prussia as well. He had a choice between red and white; he chose white, the red reminding him of all that blood…

As he passed, the Italian leaned down and kissed Germany's forehead lightly. He hugged him softly before tucking both roses under Ludwig's stiff fingers. He saw his tears spatter onto the German's uniform, realizing he would never see Germany's face or hear his voice ever again. After this was over he would be told to let it go and move on with his life, but how could he? He knew he would never be able to remove these feelings from his mind and the rest of his life his thoughts would be plagued with this one memory.

He was forced to watch as the lid was slowly closed and Germany's face was sealed from the world forever.

* * *

**OoOoOoO**

* * *

Just when Germany thought the blackness would never end, as suddenly as the darkness consumed him there was a bright flash of light. The white brilliance started to spread around him and the feeling of both fear and absolute pleasure struck him. Then, he was lost in the infinite expanse of lightness as the dark disappeared completely. He enjoyed this feeling as warmth spread throughout his body and he waited patiently for something to happen… anything at all.

Then he felt something; a small twitch perhaps, but he couldn't be sure. He tried to focus on the sensation and felt it again. It was his fingers, he was sure of it; he could feel his fingers! His mind raced and he wondered if he would be given another chance, the thought making his heart race and his mind fill with hopefulness.

He waited and soon he could move his wrists and his toes. Such a strong sense of relief hit him that he could have laughed. Everything was going to be okay; he would rebuild his economy and his city. He would be able to see Italy once again and finally accept his true feelings. He wouldn't make the same mistakes. He had learned his lesson.

He waited until he could hear his own breathing, soft and rhythmic, before he slowly opened his eyes. He felt them open, but everything looked the same; nothing but white in all directions. He gasped and quickly sat up inspecting himself. He looked odd as his normal muscular arms were there but lighter and slightly luminous. There wasn't a trace of blood on his uniform.

_It's just my vision, that's all,_ Germany thought breathlessly. _I just need my glasses!_

"Hallo?" He asked curiously, hoping someone would come and explain what was happening. His voice sounded different; still deep and masculine, but… smooth and pleasant to the ear. He pressed his hands to his ears and rubbed them roughly as if that would help.

_What the hell is this!?_ He screamed to himself. _Where the hell am I?_

He stood up and felt his body was so much lighter than before. He began to pace back and forth and shrieked in frustration; even that sounded attractive and Germany began to panic. What was happening to him?

His patience was being pushed past its limits as he seethed and raged at this strange situation. He felt like his head was going to explode and he was almost at the point of releasing his emotions into the pale, blank expanse when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped in surprise and whirled around impulsively, his fists clenched. The person caught his hands easily; the grip not at all rough, but very commanding.

"You need to calm down," a voice even deeper than his said sternly.

"How can I calm down!?" Germany fumed. "What is…?" His voice began to trail of when he realized that it was Germania standing before him, tall and brooding. "Vati…" he whispered and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He pulled away from his Grandfather and began to stutter, trying to find words. He stared at his grandfather in disbelief.

"It was an honor having you take my place, child," Germania said firmly. "But everyone's time comes I suppose." His arms crossed uncomfortably as if he was reluctant to explain the situation to his troubled grandson.

Ludwig stood frozen in place for a few moments thinking about Germania's words before he collapsed to the ground, his face falling into his hands in realization. Death wasn't exactly something he could deny.

"I chose this…" he whispered, feeling all of the emotions hitting him at once. He chose to die and yet his mind was trying to convince himself otherwise. "I'm dead…" His hands began to shake as he felt both sadness and fear pierce his heart. "I'm dead!"

"It's okay," The ancient empire said trying to be comforting, but obviously not being very good at it. "At least you're in a good place now. Heaven isn't so bad." That caused Germany to flinch and he quickly spoke.

"Heaven?" He asked looking around but seeing nothing but white. His hands brushed against the floor gently but it didn't seem very different from normal carpeting, besides its bright white luster.

"Why do you seem so surprised," His grandfather asked quizzically looking at his grandson with his dark sapphire eyes, perhaps wishing he could see the young nation's thoughts.

"Well I wasn't exactly… good." He tried to find the words to explain himself, but that's all he could think of to say.

"That's nonsense. I've been watching you. You are exactly the man I hoped to raise; strong and honorable." The old nation held out his hand. "Come on, you should get up and leave this all behind you. This isn't supposed to be a place of regret but... love I guess."

Germany thought for a second before nodding and accepting the help up although the feelings that stirred inside of him were definitely not of love. He felt like being dead just gave him more time to think about his life. He wondered how everyone was dealing with this; his bruder, Italy…

"Can we see… the living people," Germany hesitated, still not fully adjusted to the fact that he was no longer one of those "living people"; Germania just nodded.

"You can do whatever you want," he replied seeing how intent he looked. Germany nodded and his eyes began to fill up with tears thinking about Italy. What would he see? Was the world in ruin? Did he give up his life for nothing? Was he going to have to sit up here and watch as Russia tortured the ones he loved?

"I think you need time to adjust," Germania said honestly, looking at Germany's terrified expression. "I love you child and I will always be here if you need me. Just think about where you want to go and you will go there" And just like that, before Germany could say anything, he was gone. Germany could have screamed. How dare he leave him alone!

He quickly visualized some place (anywhere away from this blank whiteness that threatened to consume him), unsure of whether or not it would work but wanting to see Italy as soon as possible, and suddenly he saw it. It seemed like he just appeared where he wanted to go and this made Germany feel weird, but he wasn't really in the mood to question it. The whiteness opened up and he was there, along with a few other people, all older wearing long coats of some sort. As soon as he walked up, he saw a few of the humans look back him, but they just smiled and waved and a few saluted when they saw the badges that adorned his military jacket.

He was actually slightly relieved that his grandfather had left. He didn't want the stern nation to see him fall to his knees and break out into tears, because that is exactly what he did.

He hated to break down in front of all these bystanders, but if this was truly a place of "love" no one was going to come over and scold him. He couldn't understand how all of these people could like this place, being all alone and forced to see everything they had lost and yet not be able to do anything about it. He was trying desperately to wipe all the tears away but they kept on coming. He felt like such a failure, but then again he realized why he was here and was glad it wasn't Italy in his place. He didn't regret what he did.

He wondered what Italy was doing now. If his grandfather was right he could see if he wanted to, he could look down and see everything if he just thought about it, but he was afraid of what might be happening in the world below. He imagined Italy's tear spattered face, sobbing and crying over his death. He imagined Russia slowly taking over Europe, eventually capturing Italy and slowly torturing him to death, and above all else he imagined seeing Italy falling in love with someone that was most certainly not him.

Now, knowing this, Germany didn't know whether or not he wanted to see.

**I hope you like it so far and please tell me what you think! I would love some new ideas XD I feel bad for Germany because all the bad things seem to happen to him but I really couldn't help myself. And yes Germania had to be in this. **


	3. A Declaration of War

**Here is Ch.3 I think this will be the last short chapter, so tell me what you think!**

"Fratello! I know he was your friend, but this is getting out of hand!" Romano hissed as he dragged Italy, down and away from Germany's old home, the once bright and lively house was cold and dark in its abandonment, and seemed gloomy against the bright colors of nature.

"I don't care!" Italy screamed as he fought against his brother's tight grasp. "Let it get out of hand! This is the only place Germany has left to call home. Why would they just kick him out? Where is he going to go when he gets back?" Romano lost all reserve.

"He's dead!" Romano shrieked. "He's never coming back!" He immediately regretted what he said. Italy froze; his brother's words stung him like a slap to the face. "I'm sorry," Lovino muttered. He let go of Italy and the pathetic nation fell to his knees and began to cry.

"But he can't really be gone," the Italian mumbled. "He can't be! What am I going to do when I need saving? Who is going to eat my pasta, or wake me up every morning to train?! Who am I going to snuggle up against every night?!"

"W-Wha—"Romano gasped. "That bastard…" he gritted his teeth thinking of the two nations sleeping together.

"He would never abandon me!" Italy cried. "He would do anything to protect me!"

"Italy, listen to me!" Romano yelled breathlessly. "He died to protect you! You should at least be grateful that it was him and not you! That's what he would want isn't it! Don't you think that's the reason he did it in the first place!"

Italy didn't speak for a long time, letting his tears drip down over the earth. "Germany…" he whispered. "I'm sorry…" Romano knelt down and grabbed him gently underneath his arms.

"Let's go home," He said softly, and Italy only nodded, too torn up inside to speak. Romano lifted his brother up onto his feet and Italy wrapped his arms tightly around him. He began to sob loudly and Lovino did his best to comfort his brother. He slowly began to lead Italy back to the car, but before they made it, he heard three words escape his lips.

"I love you…" he whispered almost too quietly for Romano's ears, and in that moment he didn't know whether Italy was talking about him or Germany.

The thought made Romano uneasy.

* * *

America stood there silently, his head bowed in respect. It was late and everyone had left. Why was he still here? He didn't even know. The sun had left the sky leaving nothing but darkness and the pale moonlight to reflect off of the shiny new headstone that marked the place where his old enemy was buried.

Tears were still dripping down his face but he was too deep in thought to actually attempt wiping them away. He shouldn't be here; he should have been asleep in the comfort of his own bed, but something kept him here; something important. If only he knew what it was…

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry it had to end like this…" he held his own flower in his hand and twirled in delicately before placing it in front of the headstone. Was it guilt? Did he feel guilty? Was it hate, anger, regret, fear? He couldn't say.

Without much thought, he rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, looking through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for. He pressed it roughly to his ear.

_What am I doing?_ He asked himself, but the grip on his cell phone didn't falter. There was no turning back. He needed to do this…

"Hello, what can I do for you? It's quite early, da?" Russia's voice said dryly on the other end. He sounded as though he had been woken up, but America didn't mind. In fact he hoped he had bothered the nation. _The murderer…_ he changed his thoughts at the last moment; _that_ title seemed more fitting.

"You listen to me, and listen well." He hissed. "You are a murder, a monster, and someone with no respect towards the welfare of the people on this world! You kill for fun and you are anything but blind while doing it!" He was met with silence, and before Russia could speak America continued. "Germany was a good man and a freaking amazing country! You had no right to take the life of someone who posed absolutely no threat to you or your people." Russia began to laugh.

"Not a threat? You are a fool!" He chuckled. "He is dead. Get over it!" America ignored this and continued.

"And I will treat his death as if it was my own brother's! You will be in a pile of shit so deep, you will be begging for mercy!" America raged and he felt these words coming from his heart and not his boss as they usually did, making them twice as powerful. "Either way I will see to it that you are taken down, y-you Commie bastard!" He paused, catching his breath. "From this point on I, the United States of America, declare war on you and anyone standing with you, and I will not back down until the last bit of your pathetic country is wiped off of the freaking map you cold-blooded son of a bitch!" His words were jumbled and his voice strained but he got his point across.

"Now you listen to _me_," A cold heartless voice responded causing America to stiffen. "You think you can scare me with your power and wealth, but you are wrong. The idea of America being undefeatable will be destroyed along with you when I smash your country to dust." His usual composure faded as he became more angry and forceful. "You have no idea who you're messing with kid! I will kill your brothers and make you watch as they slowly bleed out onto the newly attained Russian snow! I will kill you so slowly and so perfectly that Germany will be the least of your concerns! And when I do _you_ will be the one begging for mercy, and I will deny it to you, feeding off of your prolonged pain and agony as if it were some delicacy! I will savor it, even more then the death of your pathetic German comrade! Good luck friend!" There was static as Russia hung up on America leaving him in that God-awful silence he hated so much.

"What have I done," America groaned loudly, but he knew inside that what he did was the right thing. He was shaken by Russia's icy words and in that moment threw his phone away from him as if it was burning into his hand. He didn't know someone was there watching until the person spoke.

"America, what the hell are you doing here," he turned to see England standing a few feet away, his emerald eyes bright even in the darkness. He was leaning against a tree, a large bag in his right hand. He cocked his head, slightly confused by America's presence and the fragile emotional state he was in.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here!?" America countered. "You didn't even show up at the funeral you asshole!" He felt like he needed composure, but couldn't find it within himself.

"I've been busy," England said so nonchalantly it burned into America.

"So the death of a country means absolutely nothing to you?" he seethed.

"Relax you git!" England said roughly. "Why the hell do you think I'm here?"

"And why are you here?" Alfred growled. England had no idea why America was acting so defensive but he needed to know the truth.

"My economy is on the brink of collapse," he sighed getting the American's attention immediately. "It is only a matter of time before I go down." America gasped in shock.

"What? Why? How?" He mumbled. He couldn't lose someone else. He wouldn't be able to take it.

"Germany was the center of Europe's economy," England said breathlessly. "If he goes down… we all do."

"Dude! I didn't know that!" America gasped and his eyes widened in concern.

"Of course you didn't," Britain muttered unenthusiastically shifting his weight uncomfortably and stepping away from the tree.

"But then why are you here," America brooded watching the bag in his brother's hand and the look of determination plastered on his face.

"There is something that needs to be done. Something I don't expect you to understand," the former empire sighed. "I can't sit here and wait for some miracle. I have no choice. If I have absolutely no chance at survival then I guess the only way out would be to make my own miracles." He saw confusion cross his little bothers face and laughed. "I didn't think you would understand," he breathed. "But I could use your help if you are up for it."

"What do you want me to do?" Alfred asked. "What the hell are you even talking about bro?"

"All I need you to do…" England paused as he fumbled around with his bag, untying the string and reaching inside. America was surprised to see him pull out a large shovel and toss it to him lightly. "…Is dig," he finished, sending a wave of shock and disbelief through the American.

"W-What!?" America gasped. "T-That's… immoral" He struggled to find the right words.

"Oh extremely," Britain agreed. "And in the end it will probably turn around and stab me in the back, but I don't have a choice. If you want to have _any_ chance at defeating Russia you will do what I say."

Those words were all the incentive America needed to bury the shovel into the newly laid dirt.

**Lots and lots of angst and hate! XD**


	4. What Have I Done?

**Here's Ch.4! Enjoy!**

* * *

**A few weeks later somewhere along the edge of Heaven... **

Germany couldn't do it; he tried with all his might to see, he wanted so desperately to see, but in the end he couldn't find the power within himself to look down upon the life he gave away. He sat on the edge of this heavenly place, his prison, with his face still buried in his hands, and his legs dangling over the side that overlooked the world.

_I'm supposed to be a strong military nation! Why am I so weak! _He screamed at himself.

"You're not weak," A voice interrupted his thoughts. Once again he was caught off guard and he spun around as quickly as his could, jumping to his feet, fists clenched, ready to take out the threat. This man looked oddly familiar, his head tilted to the side and he smiled warmly, his bright green eyes seemed almost amused. Germany immediately relaxed his hands and gaped in disbelief.

"H-How?" He gasped.

"So this is where you have been hiding," England muttered, ignoring his question. "And you are sitting here languishing over the past in a place like this?" He looked at the beautiful, perfect surroundings before laughing. "Why am I not surprised?" The German's disbelief instantly turned to anger.

"You think this is funny!?" Germany hissed, the sound of his voice catching England off guard; in fact Germany's appearance in general caught him off guard. "How dare you mock me?!" he growled.

Britain gasped as Germany stepped forward and gripped him roughly by his shirt pulling him up so they were face to face. _Well shit! It's not like I meant to make him angry! _England screamed at himself.

He stood there for a few moments in awkward silence before the Brit saw tears beginning to form in his former enemy's eyes and the German's grip loosened. England landed on his feet when Germany finally released him and he looked up at the troubled nation with sympathy. He could only imagine what he was going through.

"Are you…" Germany murmured, his head tilted up trying to stop the tears from running over his eyes. "Did Russia kill you too?"

"No," England whispered. "I'm not dead."

"Then why are you here?!" Germany seethed making Arthur jump. "How the hell are you here?"

England stepped back. "Listen… Europe's on the brink of collapse." Germany stiffened.

"What do you expect me to do about it? I'm dead!" He yelled, before whispering almost too softly for England's ears. "But you already knew that..." His words hit Arthur in the heart.

"I want to help you," England said quietly, getting Ludwig's attention. His arms crossed impatiently much like the Germany he remembered.

"No one can help me," he laughed as the tears began dripping down his face.

"Just listen to me!" England groaned loudly. He looked down at his watch. He only had a few minutes. The spell was beginning to fade and he felt his body being tugged and pulled lightly from all sides. He did his best to ignore this, but he knew he wouldn't last long. This place was so foreign and so alien that his magical form was beginning to deteriorate more quickly than expected.

"What do you want then?" Germany growled.

"Don't you want to live again?" England asked indifferently making Ludwig gasp lightly. Pain flashed across his perfect features before his mouth turned into his signature grimace and he shot the other nation daggers. His icy eyes dug into England and the former pirate could have slapped himself for saying something so stupid.

"You _are_ kidding, right?" The angel glared at Britain for a few more seconds before turning around, obviously having had enough of the conversation. "Just go away…" He whispered coldly.

England was making little progress and he was almost out of time. His last hope at life had just turned his back on him and probably wanted to whip around and beat him senseless. _Great and I thought this was going to go well, _he muttered to himself. _I thought death would make him a little less… temperamental. _

England had to get this done fast, if he was going to accomplish his mission to save his own life. He fumbled around in his pocket quickly before finding the spelled blade and pulling it out of its sheath. He needed a direct hit to the heart for this to work and now looking at his adversary he wondered what the hell he was thinking. He saw the outline of Germany's muscles against his uniform and gulped. He put the blade behind his back and shuffled around nervously.

"Germany," he said clearly, getting the nation's attention, but he didn't turn around. He _needed_ him to turn around. "Germany! Ludwig!" He yelled. Even then the nation stood there, stoic and obviously too stubborn to do the _only_ thing England needed him to do.

"Brother!" He screamed and he saw the former nation stiffen.

"_What_ did you call me?!" Germany hissed, before slowly turning around to face England.

"Uh- Ahg-Um.." Britain stammered before stepping forward and taking a deep breath thinking of America's little rant... '_And I will treat his death as if it was my own brother's…'_

"Even if we do fight and… and hate each other, we still are brothers are we not?" He said slowly. Germany only sighed.

"I don't hate you…" He said lightly, catching England off guard.

"Good… that's good," he breathed nervously. "Being your… brother, doesn't it make it my job to do anything in my power to protect you?" He saw the German's eyes soften and his lips part ever so slightly.

"Britain, we aren't even bruders," he said deep in thought.

"Not by blood no," He replied stiffly. Germany looked at him for a few moments before sighing.

"You're right. I'm sorry…" he muttered apologetically.

_Yes!_ England thought. _I've got him right where I want him! I just need to charge him. He just needs to be caught by surprise..._

"Britain…" The powerful ex-nation said, still looking England over carefully.

"Yes?" he replied, relieved that he finally had the upper hand.

"What's behind your back?" Germany asked as his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

And as always the tall blonde didn't miss a thing. England froze.

_Shit! Cover blown!_

"N-nothing! Why would there be something behind my back?" He lied pathetically.

"You think you can fool me? Do you know who I am?" The words sent shivers down England's spine as he was reminded of how scary Germany could be. And Germany was right; he was the fool, thinking he could take Germany by surprise.

_What do I do? What do I do?! What the bloody hell do I do?!_ England screamed at himself. Germany stepped forward only a few feet away from the troubled nation. _He's in stabbing distance… Good God he's in stabbing distance! _The hand holding the knife began to quiver as England's nerves got the best of him.

Germany stopped his approach, seeing England's horrified expression, and tried to compose himself. "Just tell me…" he said softly, trying so desperately to be the kind patient man that he so obviously was not.

England felt a disturbance as the spell was fading and he looked at Germany with guilt stricken eyes, wide and distraught. He saw the opportunity; it was _right_ there! But despite this he couldn't help but hesitate. He felt like Russia as he held his knife in position.

"Britain?" Germany asked tilting his head to the side.

He had to act right now if he wanted to live. Yes this was life or death! He took a deep breath…

"I'm sorry…" he whispered.

"Wha—"Germany started, but he was cut off as England lunged forward and raised his knife, attacking with all the power he could muster.

Germany was so experienced in combat, he caught Britain's arm almost_ too_ easily before the knife could even touch him.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Germany gasped as the nation struggled to break free from his grip, but Ludwig held him fast. England shrieked in pain as the stronger man twisted his wrist sharply, but even then refused to let go of the knife. Germany skillfully flipped England around and put him in a headlock. "Tell me now!" He growled into his ear.

"Y-You don't… u-understand!" England moaned as he choked and sputtered, fighting for air. He kicked his leg back sharply, hitting Germany in the groin. Ludwig didn't even flinch. _What the hell did I expect! _England screamed at himself. _I'm fighting an angel in bloody heaven! Of course that wouldn't hurt!_

England felt himself getting weaker and weaker as he was being overpowered by the German and in one last-ditch effort to complete his final task, the nation jerked his arm down as fast as he could. He felt his wrist break free from Ludwig's grasp and he twisted his body around. His face smashed roughly against Germany's abs painfully, but it didn't matter. Now he was in the perfect position to strike. England raised the weapon once more and aimed it right where Germany's heart would be. He swung with all his might.

Germany's gloved hand met Arthur's, trying to get the knife away from his chest; however England's arm was moving too quickly to be stopped. Germany pushed downward with all his might and the knife sunk deep into his abdomen; he gasped and shoved England away roughly his hand instinctively going to the wound. He gripped the hilt of the blade and clenched his eyes tightly shut as he prepared to remove it from his body; much to his surprise, the knife didn't budge.

"W-What the hell?" Germany shrieked as he pulled at the dagger. Nothing happened.

"I-I…" England trailed off not even able to speak. _Of course the blade won't come out; it's spelled!_

This was his only chance to save himself. The knife needed to hit Germany in the heart! What would happen to him now? Would he join Germany up in this place when his economy collapsed, would he end up like Prussia with no place in the world? The thought made him fall to him knees. He had failed. He felt his form being pulled more forcefully as the spell began to collapse and he didn't fight it. _Just take me away from this…_

Germany began to stumble, growing weaker and weaker until his knees buckled and he hit the ground hard. He grabbed at his stomach. England's emerald eyes flicked up to see pain in the ex-nation's expression.

"I-It hurts," he whispered. "I'm dead… why does it hurt…" His unnaturally blue eyes closed slowly until he lost consciousness. His body went slack and rolled to the side.

_What the hell is going to happen to him? _England grew worried. What was happening to Germany? _Is it just in my nature to screw up every single spell!?_ He began to stand ready to go tend to the nation and that's when (no pun intended) all hell broke loose. The worst thing that could happen happened. Germany's body rolled too close to the edge of Heaven and his unconscious form slowly slid over the side. _Oh God no!_

England looked just in time to see the last of Germany's arm disappear. Britain stood there in shock. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief. _You have got to be kidding me! Oh my God! _He dashed to the spot where Germany slipped and looked over the side in utter astonishment. There was the faint outline of the angel falling until he saw nothing but white. He gripped his hair roughly in his fingers as he tried to decide what to do. _Oh God! Oh God! Oh_ God!

_What. Have. I. Done…_

**Silly Britain thinking one of his spells would actually work! HAHA More on the way! Thank you followers for your support! Tell me what you think! And don't worry if your confused! All will be explained in due time. Due time meaning next chapter! XD**


	5. Fallen Angel

**This chapter was partly inspired by the dream I had last night. Those damn falling dreams get me every time! Have you guys ever had those dreams? They freaking suck! **

**Anyways... Enjoy Ch.5 and I obviously don't own Hetalia. If I did... oh God bad things would happen... bad things...**

Germany felt himself falling, but he was too weak to do anything about it; he was paralyzed and helpless as the warm air whirring around him suddenly turned icy. He couldn't twitch his fingers, couldn't open his eyes and even as the air nipped at him relentlessly the throbbing sensation of the blade seemed to overpower all physical feeling. All he seemed to have left was the torrent of inexplicable questions that plagued his thoughts and the surge of uncontrollable emotion that threatened to consume him. Above all else he felt fear; the one thing he had locked away for so many years in the depths of his heart was finally beginning to grow and blossom.

The sound of air whizzing past Germany seemed to soften as the throbbing sensation grew more and more intense; the excruciating pain he was experiencing seemed to double, then triple, as if the fragile emotional state he was in wasn't enough. There was agony on both sides; mental and physical torment seemed to merge into one immense orb of heavenly fire that was falling with great speed towards the limitless unknown.

Then before he could prepare, before he could brace himself, he slammed into something flat and rock-solid. He felt the shock of impact and, much like those frightful dreams where you fall and as your body hits the ground you jump out of bed, Ludwig jolted upwards out of his permanent slumber and back into the world he so suddenly left behind.

His brilliant blue eyes flicked open and he felt his body jerk upwards in an automatic response to the sensation of impact. Even the strong ex-nation couldn't suppress the shriek of surprise; he felt like he should be splattered across the ground and as he tried to get a hold of his bearings he noticed to much relief that he was still in one piece. He gasped for breath and the arms that were so neatly crossed over his chest fell to his sides. He felt fabric underneath his fingers and gripped the material roughly as he continued to pant, taking in all the oxygen he could manage.

His vision was too blurry to make out anything clearly and instantly fear began to convolute his reality. He felt hot breath against his face and stiffened letting his imagination conjure up all the evils that could possibly exist in his messed up world. He skittered backwards only to hit his head painfully on what seemed to be concrete. He groaned in discomfort and sat there in silence; the only sound was his shallow and incessant wheezing along with the soft and rhythmic breathing of the figure in front of him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his vision began to clear and he could make out the soft glow of candles casting a faint and delicate light over his surroundings. He felt the cool chill of air, stagnant and damp, brush across his face and he shivered lightly. Besides the candlelight the room was dark, and even with fuzzy vision, the ominous atmosphere of the icy and shadowy space reminded Germany of a dungeon.

As soon as his eye-sight was mostly back to normal Germany was able to make out the forest green uniform and dirty blonde hair of his British adversary. England was leaning over him, straddling him awkwardly; he was obviously unconscious by the way he was sprawled across the German, eyes closed and breathing relaxed, but even then Germany saw Arthur had a tight relentless grip on something. The hilt of the dagger glinted dangerously, reflecting the little light the candles were producing; just seeing the blade imbedded in his stomach made the light throbbing sensation return and Ludwig gritted his teeth in discomfort.

Being German, Ludwig reacted defensively to England's position over him and pushed the Brit off roughly. The table-like structure he was resting upon was relatively small and after Arthur had slipped off of him Ludwig heard the sound of his head making contact with the hard floor below. There was a loud groan as the blow must have woken him up, and then a soft shuffling sound as he tried to regain his bearings.

Germany quickly gripped the knife with one hand and, to much relief, it easily slid out of him. He threw the blade away from him quickly before lying down and pressing his fingers against the wound. He felt a sharp pricking sensation and lifted his other hand only to find two dry and delicate roses, each with a small ribbon perfectly tied around each stem. The room was so dark, but he thought he could make out the red white and green of Italy's flag and the regal German eagle that stood out against the white background of his brother's.

He clenched his eyes shut and rolled onto his side; just the sight of their flags made his heart ache and, regardless of the thorns, his grip on the two flowers only tightened. He felt tears escape his closed eyes and despite his constant need to be strong and intimidating he didn't wipe them away.

"Germany…?" He felt a warm breath puff across his cold face and he stiffened. The voice was followed by a small poking sensation as a finger pressed lightly against his cheek. His eyes quickly opened and instantly his bright aqua orbs widened at the sight of a face inches from his own. He stifled a scream and fought the urge to instinctively lash out with his fist. It was America; his spectacled face was tilted slightly, his deep blue eyes wide with concern.

If Germany wasn't scared out of his mind he could have described America's shift in expression as almost comical; his deep focused appearance softened as a smile slowly spread across his young features, gradually widening until his strait white teeth seemed to stretch across his entire face. All Germany could do was lie there, his eyes still wide and mouth agape in shock. America was the first to speak.

"Who ever said magic doesn't exist?" he breathed softly. He noticed Germany's tear-filled eyes begin to quiver; Fear? Sadness? Anger? The American couldn't say. "You're okay," he whispered, trying to calm the distressed German much like he would soothe a young child; he knew Germany didn't like being treated this way, but he looked so lost and confused that America couldn't help it.

"America, I once again screwed things up," he heard Britain groan from somewhere on the floor; he obviously didn't realize that Germany had woken up and America laughed lightly. "What's so funny you bloody git?!" He hissed.

"I think it might have worked," America muttered, his eyes still locked with Germany's.

"What!?" Britain gasped as he practically bolted up off the ground. He rubbed his head and eyed the two others carefully. He saw Germany's blue eyes flick over to him and England sighed in relief. "Thank God!" He yelled.

"He doesn't look too ecstatic though," the American warned not even caring that Germany was right in front of him.

"Back away from him then you wanker!" England groaned. "I wouldn't be too happy either if I woke up to _your_ blithering face!" America whined in protest but backed away further.

"It's not my fault that someone who's been dead for over three weeks suddenly wakes up and I am slightly interested," he muttered before adjusting his glasses and crossing his arms stubbornly.

England took a few steps forward to inspect the German more clearly. He noticed immediately that something had gone wrong. Even in the dark the German's skin seemed to glow with a slight luminosity. It wasn't extraordinarily prominent, but it was unnatural all the same; the dark black military jacket he was wearing seemed to accentuate this feature. His eyes were a more striking shade of blue, if that was even possible, and pierced through the dark like reflectors. His already attractive features looked perfect and even in his horrified and traumatized state his sharp jaw line and straight nose gave him an intimidating and powerful disposition.

"Britain," Germany murmured after noticing the former pirate staring him down. "What did you do to me?" His voice was shaky but even then it sounded different; still deep and commanding, but different… England couldn't explain it. Even America noticed this and his head cocked to the side.

"What the hell happened to you?" Alfred questioned before turning to his brother. "England, what did you do to him?"

"I-I don't know," he mumbled. "Things didn't go as planned," he looked back at America. "What did you see?"

"Well you were sitting on top of him doing your spell thing until you were unconscious and then all of a sudden you stabbed him. You said you needed to do it for the spell to work. Then there was a bright flash of light and he woke up... just like that," America paused when he saw Germany sit back up and rub his head, taking in Alfred's words.

"What do you mean _spell_?" The German questioned, first looking at America then shifting his cold gaze to England. He sounded more composed as curiosity and frustration seemed to replace his fear. He had always been good at this, hiding all emotions that could possibly make him appear weak and vulnerable. "Explain. _Now_," he said forcefully, glaring at Britain as he was obviously the one responsible. England gave America a pleading look and Alfred cleared his throat, trying to help his brother.

"Well you see," America began, eyeing the German. "You were kinda dead—"

"No shit!" Germany yelled and the American jumped in surprise. Britain let out a sigh and rubbed his face with his hand.

"America, now would be a good time to shut your mouth," the Brit murmured. He looked at the German thoughtfully. "Germany, you've been out for over three weeks and in that time Europe has been falling apart." He paused and looked at Ludwig's horrified expression. "I thought the only way I could fix it was if… if you came back." His large green eyes were filled with sincerity and he shuffled around uncomfortably waiting for Germany to yell like he always did. Instead he was met with a calm and collected voice.

"How? How did you do it?" Germany's eyes looked distressed, but he managed to keep his demeanor reserved. England walked over to another small table and grabbed a thick leather bound book. He shut it carefully and held it up for the German to see.

"It's a spell book," he said and saw Ludwig's eyebrows rise in curiosity. "I was lucky to come across the page, but when I did, I knew it would be of _some_ use to me. A revival spell; It was supposed to bring you back to life."

"Why did you attack me with a knife then?!" Just the thought made Germany's voice rise in frustration.

"The spell book gave me clear instructions," Britain said. He rubbed his index finger lightly over the pages until he found the bookmark. He handed it to Germany, and out of curiosity he grabbed it and examined it for himself. Sure enough the book discussed everything that England had done; the knife, the stabbing, everything. The thought that such a spell existed made Ludwig shudder.

"Where did you get this book?" He whispered and Britain sighed.

"It doesn't matter," he quickly tore it out of Germany's grasp and set it back down on the table. "Now you know that I did it for a good reason," He shuffled around nervously before he told Germany the truth. "I don't think it worked though."

"And why would you say that?" Ludwig asked, slightly irritated by the vague statement.

"You still look like you did… before," he tried to find the words but he didn't want to make the German even more irritated. He pointed upwards and Germany immediately understood. His hands immediately went to his face and then to his hair; he didn't even know what he looked like, but if it was noticeable to Britain it was a definite issue.

"Hey well at least you don't look _bad_!" America piped in with his usual optimism. Both nation's sent glares in his direction.

"I didn't do the spell right." England murmured. "You were supposed to be back to your normal self. You still look like a freaking angel."

Germany thought for a second, trying to feel the warmth of his land and his people; there was nothing. His head bowed in sadness and he tried again; still as he so desperately wanted to feel the life his people brought him, the only thing he felt inside was coldness. Britain was right; he was still dead, and the very thought made him bury his face in his hands.

"I don't feel anything," he whispered and the other countries looked down upon his depressed hunched over form with sympathy. "Where did all of my people go…?" he breathed as he fought the tears that threatened to spill over his eyes.

"Germany…" England said now suddenly saddened by Ludwig's suffering. "I'm going to fix it. I promise. Just give me a little time. There has got to be a spell in here somewhere."

"Just think of it this way!" America said cheerfully. "At least you're here! And maybe you can see your friends and family again. I'm sure lots of people miss you; Italy and Prussia especially! Don't worry Germany, I'm the hero and I will make sure this gets resolved!" Germany didn't know whether or not to punch the egocentric nation or thank him. Yes, he could see his family again. Italy… he could see Italy again. He wanted so desperately just to get out of here and find the Italian; and hold him close… and never let go…

"Thank you," his thoughts of Italy got the best of him. This was the second chance he so desperately begged for and despite his emptiness he couldn't help but feel extremely grateful.

"Hey!" England shrieked. "I'm the one who brought your bloody ass back here! Why are you thanking him!?" Germany looked over at England and did the thing that neither nation saw coming. He genuinely smiled.

"Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

"Now, you have a choice Germany," America said after they made their way out of England's basement. They were sitting down on one of the Brit's large sofas and, after taking a few minutes to let everything that had happened sink in, they began discussing their options. "Where would you like to stay?"

"I want to go home and see Prussia," Germany said. "I want to talk to him." England and America exchanged a nervous glance.

"I don't think that's a good idea." America replied. "You know Russia has taken over your land. If he ever found out—"

"I don't care. I want to see my bruder," Germany interrupted.

"Listen, Russia has your brother," England said and the German seemed to deflate. "He's been forced to move in with that wretched psychopath, probably just for his amusement… sick bastard."

"What I meant was you have a choice between living with me or my brother," America clarified. To Germany, both options seemed like guaranteed torture, and he wanted to tell America 'No way in hell', but he kept quiet.

"Until I get this fixed and you are a country again, I don't think seeing anyone else is a very good idea," England muttered, filling Ludwig with sadness. "Don't you think it's a little bit risky?" He asked and America instantly agreed.

"Yeah especially looking like _that_!" He yelled. Germany instantly fumed.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean!?" He countered angrily.

"Well you look really different! That's all!" America huffed before adding quietly, "I thought you looked attractive before but…Dayuhm!" The nation chuckled jokingly and Germany tried with all his might to reach over England and pound that American bastard to dust.

"America, you idiot!" England hissed as he struggled to push the fuming German away. "Keep your Goddamn mouth shut!"

"It was supposed to be a compliment!"

"Keep your bloody compliments to yourself then!" He shrieked.

Germany huffed and crossed his arms after his failed attempt at kicking America's ass. "So what am I supposed to do, just sit here and wait?" he asked crossly.

"Well let's just try and get this figured out first, okay?" England asked impatiently. Germany nodded. "If this doesn't get figured out in a few weeks we can make other arrangements."

"So whose it gonna be?" America asked.

_Great I have a choice between the McDonald consuming idiot and the tea sipping, spell casting bastard, _Germany thought to himself. _Both of them are annoying as hell!_

"If you are staying with me, I'm sorry to say I'm gonna be out most of the time," America admitted. "I'm fighting_ your_ war you know…" Germany leaned over England and placed a hand on the American's shoulder in utmost seriousness.

"When are we leaving?" He asked. America smiled widely and the Brit gritted his teeth.

"Ungrateful wanker," he hissed.

Germany and America were out the door as soon as possible, leaving England all alone to flip through his spell book.

**Now let the adventures of living dead Germany begin! And the GerIta! In all honesty if I woke up to America's face staring at me, I think I would be pleasantly surprised ;) And it's so hard to write these chapters since we all know the countries are going to be arguing the _whole_ time!**

**Please don't be afraid to leave comments, and suggestions, criticism, and awesome ideas (Like level Prussia awesome)! I am currently sick so reading them would prove to be quite entertaining _and_ I could quite possibly find the inspiration necessary to write another chapter. Thank you guys for reading! I recognize and appreciate every viewer!**

** Good day!**


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